


HP One-Shots

by owlways_and_forever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlways_and_forever/pseuds/owlways_and_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots I've written for the Harry Potter universe. Summaries/settings/time periods for each story are in the notes at the beginning. No rights to characters, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Keep This Love in a Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes another trip back to Godric's Hollow and finds some very interesting things. Post-Battle of Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't know where this came from. I was reading fics and this just, I don't even know, started as a small idea and then just kept snowballing from there. I hope you like it, and comments/kudos/etc. are always welcomed and appreciated.

"I want to go back to Godric's Hollow," Harry announced very suddenly at dinner one night. All the Weasleys, except Ginny and George, looked up at him in surprise.

"But, Harry," Hermione began, voicing her concerns before even Mrs. Weasley could start. "Last time -"

"Last time, Riddle was still out there," he cut across her. He had taken to calling Voldemort by his given name, which for some reason made it feel more real, that he was gone. Calling him Tom Riddle made him seem less and less like the immortal Lord Voldemort, and it was easier to believe that he was really and truly dead.

"Are you sure, mate?" Ron asked delicately. "There's not exactly a lot of happy memories there."

"I know," Harry answered, "but I want to go back. Really take my time, maybe sit with my parents for a while."

It was odd - when he and Hermione had seen their grave so many months ago, he had felt as though there was nothing there, no connection to his parents, no way for them to know he was there with them. But after watching the Weasleys grieve for Fred the past few weeks, and after talking to his parents the night of his own (brief) death, he felt more and more like sitting at their graves and talking to them would somehow make him feel better. It wasn't that he missed them, exactly, though he did, every day. It was more that he needed someone to talk to, so he could work things out in his mind, so he could figure out where to go from here, now that his purpose in life had been achieved. And though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were wonderful at giving him advice, this time he felt it was something he really needed to work through without them (especially as much of his concern had to do with their daughter, and somehow he felt they may not appreciate hearing about his  _frustrations_  caused by the spirited redhead who was resolutely not looking at him).

"You'll be careful, dear?" Molly Weasley interjected, uncharacteristically unworried. "Voldemort may be gone, but there are still those out there who wish to repay you for being the cause of his demise." She had been the first one to start using Voldemort's name again, her bravery bolstered by the loss of her son. The man who so ruthlessly murdered her baby did not deserve her fear.

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied with a grin.

"Do you want us to come with you?" Hermione asked, her voice still laced with concern.

"No, thanks though. I think this time I need to go on my own."

* * *

Harry wandered aimlessly through the quaint little town after he had spent what he felt was a very beneficial hour and a half leaning against his parents' headstone, chattering away about his thoughts. It looked very different during the day - far less threatening, and abundantly more cheerful. Children ran through the streets and Harry smiled as they passed, enjoying the anonymity that came with seeing children far too young to recognize him.

After a while, he found himself outside the little cottage where it had all started, looking up at the hole blasted through the wall of his nursery. He found himself curious, wondering what this house that he had once lived in looked like. How had his parents decorated? What was their taste in furniture like? Did his mother keep the house as obsessively clean as Aunt Petunia? It was odd, not knowing these little details about his own parents.

Carefully, Harry pushed the little gate open, nervous that it might collapse or that some spell might prevent him from moving closer. But the gate held firm and either no such spell existed, or it recognized him as one of the house's former occupants. He moved up the little path and paused at the door, which was painted a very light blue that had turned somewhat grey with the years. The walls were a dirty white, with brown wooden rafters climbing them every few meters, and on one corner, ivy climbed the wall to nearly the top of the house. After a moment's hesitation, Harry reached down to the little white doorknob and twisted, pushing the door open.

Harry was surprised at how much the inside of the house seemed to just  _fit_  his parents. The door opened onto a little hallway, painted a creamy beige color, with a gold trim running around the base. Deep crimson carpeting lay on the floor, leading him further into the house. The first doorway, on his left, led into the living room, and Harry could see his father's influence in every inch of it. The couch was a hideous maroon with gold plaid, and the walls were covered in crimson and gold on just about every inch. A fireplace was set into a wall of bookshelves (the only thing in the room Harry thought his mother might have chosen), and he walked over to it, running his fingers over the spines of all the books, stirring up dust as he did. There were so many volumes - muggle and wizarding books alike - and Harry could almost picture his mother curled up in the gold chair in the corner, reading from one of them with a fire roaring. Another image of him, as a baby, seated in Lily's lap in that same chair as she read aloud to him from a children's book flashed in his mind, and he couldn't help but smile. The thought was darkened, somewhat when he realized that he had no idea what he had even looked like as a baby - the Dursleys had never allowed him to be included in any photos. He moved away from the bookshelf and looked around the room again once more, before moving on through the house.

Just as the living room had been very  _James_ , the kitchen was all Lily. It was clean, and prim, and yet, it had a little bit of wildness to it. The walls were the same creamy beige as the rest of the house, but the cabinets and counters were all a deep chocolate color. A window over the sink let light filter into the room, and Harry noticed a vase filled with wildflowers sitting on the table - a lasting preservation spell that must have been placed by someone other than Lily - whoever gave her the flowers, probably. There were paintings on the walls of different scenery - a lot of cliffs and turbulent oceans and windy fields - and when he approached one of them closely, he saw his mother's signature in the bottom corner, and he smiled a little at her skill. He had never known that she could paint, no one ever told him that.

On the other side of the hall was a large dining room, with a nice mahogany dining set (six chairs and space for more should any of the other marauders decide to settle down one day) (it pained Harry a little bit that his parents thought there would be a one day). Along the front wall, near the window, was an old fashioned writing desk, which Harry approached slowly. On the top was a half finished letter to Sirius, and the sight pulled at his heart. He opened one drawer and found a bunch of old letters tied together, and as he pulled them apart, he saw that they were letters between James and Lily - they must have been from their summer apart before their seventh year. He sat down at the desk and read through a few of them, his eyes tearing up a little bit at the first signs of their feelings for each other (well, maybe not the first signs, but the first ones that he picked up on). He put the letters down and stood up, making his way to the stairs, and he walked up.

The first room he saw was obviously a guest room - bed neatly made and hardly any decorations (just a few more of Lily's paintings). Harry supposed the room must have been reserved for the other Marauders, any time they came to visit and felt like staying the night. The next room was his parents', though he couldn't tell who had decorated it. The walls were a light blue grey, very soothing, with coffee and chocolate coloured accents. The bedspread was striped with the same colours, and on the wall was a canvas image of an old globe that was spinning very slowly. Another wall held geometric, interlocking shelves, upon which sat candles and a few framed photographs of Lily and James smiling at each other. On their dresser sat a little metal tree, with various pieces of jewelry hanging off the branches, and Harry touched them lightly. A delicate pair of golden earrings glinted in the light coming through the window, and for some reason he imagined them on Ginny, shining against her flaming red hair. Gently, he lifted them from their branch and wrapped them in a tissue, placing them carefully in his pocket. He shut the door behind him as he left, and paused in front of the last room in the little house - unsure whether or not he wanted to see it. His nursery was the only room he hadn't entered yet, and with his hand resting on the doorknob, Harry decided it was one thing he just didn't need to see, or maybe he wasn't ready. Either way, he turned away from the white door, a little wooden 'H' centered at eye level, and proceeded back down the stairs.

Harry stepped into the living room for one last look, and a little white booklet on the end table caught his attention. He walked over and grabbed it, flipping it open and finding, much to his surprise, a photo of himself, grinning up at the camera and clapping his hands together. He must have been only a few weeks old. He turned the page and saw himself lying on a blanket on the floor, trying to pick his head up. He flipped a few pages earlier and saw Lily rocking a sleeping Harry, grinning over her shoulder at James. She looked gorgeous, and happy. He turned back to the beginning of the album, which had a photo of his mother and father together in the hospital, staring their newborn son. He turned the pages one by one, looking through his childhood, taking in every detail of the pictures the way a dying man downs water.

* * *

When Harry apparated back to the living room of the Burrow, the sun was setting and Hermione was pacing the living room while Mrs. Weasley fussed worriedly over the stove.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed when he appeared, sounding half relieved and half furious with him. "What happened? You were supposed to be home hours ago!"

"I know," he answered with a sheepish smile, "but Hermione, look what I found at my parents' house!"

Harry held the photo album out to her and watched as she flipped through the photos.

"You were a really cute baby, Harry, but that still-" she started, but Harry cut across her.

"There was so much stuff there, Hermione, it was like they never left - letters to each other, and photos, and the lot!" he seemed so excited, that Hermione just sighed and let the issue drop, continuing to flick through the photo album.

"Hey, Ginny, can I, er, well, can we go somewhere, to talk?" he asked, gazing hesitantly at the redhead perched on the couch. They hadn't spoken much, in part because he had wanted to give her the space she needed to mourn her brother and friends, but mostly because he couldn't figure out the right words.

"Sure," she said quietly, unfolding her long legs and walking out through the back door, Harry trailing behind. "So, what is it?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper, once they had made it far enough into the yard that they could be sure no one inside was eavesdropping

"I wanted to talk to you about, er," he paused and took a deep breath before forcing himself to continue, "about us. Thing is, Ginny, I really missed you while I was gone, and I know you might have moved on, because it was months, ages, and you never heard from me, but I thought you should know that I didn't - haven't - and if you wanted to, erm, maybe start again, I would like that. I mean, I know you're going back to school, but I could visit on Hogsmeade weekends or something, and, I don't know."

He finally stopped babbling when she placed a finger over his lips, and he wanted so badly to reach for her in that moment, to touch her, run his fingers through her hair...

"Harry James Potter, if you thought for even one moment that I could move on and forget about you while you were off trying to save the entire damn world, then you are a bloody fool," she said boldly, the same blazing look in her eyes as the day he had first kissed her, and he couldn't help but smile. "It doesn't mean that there's not - well, we have some things to talk about, eventually. But, Harry, I know you said that day by the lake that things were over, to keep me safe, but they were never really over for me."

"Me neither," he admitted, and one of his hands found Ginny's, twining their fingers and pulling her a little bit closer. His free hand pulled the earrings from his pocket and he held them out to her. "I found these at the house, they were my mum's, but I thought they would look pretty on you. And I'm sure she wouldn't want them just sitting gathering dust."

"Harry, they're beautiful, and it's very sweet of you," she replied, blushing furiously in the light of the setting sun.

Ginny inched closer to him and reached up on her tiptoes, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek, but Harry's arm had snaked around her waist, holding her close to him, and the damn flowery smell that came off her was intoxicating. He turned his head slightly and caught her lips in his, and he felt her sigh at the rightness of it, at just how much it felt like pieces of a puzzle fitting back together. It was hard, in that moment, with Ginny back in his arms, not to believe that things were perfect, that all was right in the world and that the future wasn't as bright as the sun itself.


	2. Lucky I'm in Love With My Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deamus wedding, sometime after the Battle of Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, so I wrote a headcanon post on tumblr and I didn't intend for that to turn into a nearly 3000 word one-shot, but oops. There's some notes at the end about timelines and names and stuff.  
> Also, I highly suggest listening to the song Lucky ft. Colbie Callait by Jason Mraz while you read this. That's where the title comes from. It's also the song they dance to.

Seamus paced the little side room, anxious to get the ceremony underway, and wondering what Dean was thinking in his room on the other side of the hall. It felt stuffy in this room, though Seamus wondered whether that was the room itself or just his imagination. He had not particularly wanted to get married here, he would have much preferred open moors or a grassy green knoll, but it was important to Dean that they get married somewhere with _meaning_ , and Seamus mostly just wanted Dean to be happy.

Professor McGonagall – she insisted they could call her Minerva now, having graduated and fought along side each other in a war, but she would always be Professor McGonagall to him – had been kind enough to offer them the use of the Great Hall and the Hogwarts house elves, and Dean's face had lit up at the prospect. Seamus let him take the reigns for most of the process, though he (with Ron's help) had gone about setting the menu, after ample taste testings. He had booked rooms in Hogsmeade for Dean's family and friends, and for his few relatives who were too old to floo or apparate willy-nilly. With some effort, Seamus had even persuaded McGonagall to lift the anti-muggle enchantments for a whole week, so that their families could help them with the final preparations.

They weren't expecting a too many people – within both their families, though more so Seamus', it was not the most popular relationship. Dean's mother had been the most accepting, and when Seamus had rowed with his mother over the relationship, it had been Dean's family that sheltered him, until Mrs. Finnigan had come around. In the end, she said, it was his happiness that mattered most, and if she had been able to accept that she had been wrong about Harry Potter and You-Know-Who's return, then she could certainly accept that she had been wrong about other things as well. But there were still a great many of her relatives who could not be made to see reason. Their friends, however, had all been thrilled, and all had said they would be in attendance, though their numbers had been thinned by the war.

Seamus' heart dipped a little as he thought of those who could not be there. He felt a little unsure of how this whole wedding should go – they were the first of their friends to make that leap since the war ended, and it felt a little bit wrong somehow, getting married when so many were missing. When the war had ended, Seamus had felt so relieved that the two of them had survived, he couldn't bear not being with Dean any longer. So maybe it had all been a little rushed, but rushed was exactly what he needed.

As he paced, his mind racing, Seamus looked around at the room, taking in the various decorations for the first time. There were silks in a variety of greens draped around the walls, artfully arranged (no doubt meticulously by Dean), to look like great rolling hills. Higher up the walls, blue and white silks met the green, mimicking a clear blue sky. He stepped back to take it all in, and suddenly his mind felt at ease, as though he really were standing in the brisk Irish air, with a view that could knock you off your feet. He smiled, thinking of how well Dean knew him to put something like this together, not only because it meant that Dean knew what he would find calm and reassuring, but that he knew Seamus would need it.

"Seamus?" Neville poked his head through the door. "It's time."

Seamus nodded and wordlessly followed Neville out into the Hall, the lump in his throat growing a little as he heard music emanating from somewhere above him.

The Hall was magnificent. Giant gold silk curtains flowed from high in the rafters, separating the hall into two, so that the entrance to the Hall, where the tables were set up for the reception, could not be seen, but for through a small entryway in the curtains. Gold chairs with red cushions had been set up in rows facing the teacher's dais, which lacked its long table, instead, a wide, elaborate golden archway made from intertwining vines stretched across the space, glinting in the sunlight that filtered through the large paned glass windows.

Seamus stood with Neville next to him, waiting for Dean to appear, and looked out at the crowd. His parents and younger sister were sitting in the front row, along with his paternal grandmother. Dean's family sat on the other side of the aisle, his sisters all chattering happily in their pretty new dresses. Behind them, interspersed with various family members, were Harry and Ginny, her head resting happily on his shoulder as she gazed around serenely, Ron and Hermione holding hands next to them. Not far away was Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones, and as she brushed a strand of hair from his face he suddenly looked a bit less pompous than he had at school, as though she took some of that away from him. Luna sat a few seats over, in sunshine yellow robes, and as he watched, she waved enthusiastically to Neville, who blushed nearly as scarlet as the seat cushions. Parvati sat with her sister, looking as though she had lost a limb without Lavender sitting next to her.

Dean entered the Hall from a different side room at last, and Seamus smiled as he saw him, all his nerves and anxiety fading away the instant their eyes met. He walked up to the dais, standing across from Seamus with a wide grin, and turned toward the archway he had made. Seamus followed his gaze and found, to his surprise, Professor Flitwick standing between them. He had not noticed his old teacher's appearance, he had been so caught up in his thoughts.

"My esteemed ladies and gentlemen," Professor Flitwick squeaked loudly, drawing everyone's attention, "it is with great pleasure today, that I join these two young men, whom I have known for some time now, together for life. Before we begin, please join me in a moment of silence, for friends and family lost in both the First* and Second Wizarding Wars."

The wizened man bowed his head, and many of the onlookers did the same, others simply closing their eyes. When Seamus opened his, he saw that a few of his friends had tears running down their cheeks. He felt the tug of sadness too, but now that they had paid their respects, there would be time to remember their friends in much happier ways.

"Right, now, I should like to make this short and sweet, not unlike myself," Professor Flitwick continued after an appropriate time, and the guests tittered with laughter. He turned to Dean first, and motioned that he should read his vows first.

Pulling a neatly folded piece of parchment from his pocket, Dean began reading, looking up at Seamus every few words.

"Seamus, you are my everything, and have been for much longer than I realized," he spoke, his voice cracking with emotion. "You have brought light to my life, and color to my world, from the moment we met, sitting next to each other in this very hall. You became my best friend, the one person who could read my mind, and never faltered from that role. You were patient with me as I took my sweet time working out what exactly our relationship meant to me, though I suspect you figured it out long before I did. Loving you though, has been the most amazing thing I could possibly do, far beautiful than anything I could ever paint."

It looked, for a moment, as though there might have been more he had written, but then Dean folded the parchment and put it back in his pocket, and looked up at Seamus, his eyes sparkling. He pulled the ring from his breast pocket and took Seamus' hand, slipping the thin gold band onto the fourth finger. Seamus did not need Flitwick's prompting to pull out the slightly crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, though he hardly looked at it at all.

"Dean, you are the one person who I can always count on, always trust, not only to be by my side, but to tell me when I am being a complete and utter arse. You have always challenged me, and forced me to become a better student, a better friend, a better person. When I think about my role model in life, it has always been you, and I could not imagine a better one. You are it for me, the only one I want, for always."

He pulled a ring from his own pocket and fiddled with it for a moment, his fingers tracing the engraving along the inside, before his placed it on Dean's finger.

"Very nice, very nice," Flitwick piped up, and his voice tore Seamus' attention away from Dean for a moment, at whom he had been grinning like a mad fool. "Dean Edgar Thomas, have you come here today of your own volition?"

"I have," Dean said firmly, nodding as he did so.

"And do you wish to be joined with Mr. Finnigan in marriage from this day on?"

"I do," Dean answered, turning to look at Seamus as he did so.

"Excellent," Flitwick continued. "Now, Seamus Eoin Finnigan, have you come here today of your own volition?"

"I have," Seamus said, chuckling in his head at the old-timey question. It hardly seemed like anyone got forced to the altar by their families these days.

"And do you wish to be joined with Mr. Thomas in marriage from this day on?"

"Yes, I bloody well do," he replied eagerly, his excitement mounting as he said the words, barely processing the laughter of his guests.

"Lovely! In that case," Flitwick beamed as he spoke, "I am delighted to pronounce you man and husband, husband and man! You may kiss the groom!"

Seamus stretched forward on his toes, his hands cradling Dean's face as he pressed his lips against his _husband's_ , the word resounding in his head like a heartbeat. _Husband. Husband._ As their lips met, an explosion sounded in the air above them, as fireworks erupted, a surprise Seamus had planned. Dean looked up at them in astonishment and wonder, his hand tightly grasping Seamus', before he pressed his forehead against the Irishman's, laughter bubbling from his lips.

Their giddiness was short-lived, as a few moments later, the fireworks exploded _again_ , larger than before and with an even louder bang. Dean and Seamus had ducked to avoid the fiery sparklers, but it was not enough. When they stood once more, Dean's eyebrows had been badly singed, his cheekbones darkened with ash, and Seamus' hair was sticking up in all directions, the tips burnt and smoking. Both of their shirts had a few small holes, particularly in the sleeves. Dean took one look at Seamus and doubled over laughing, clutching at his stomach, and after the initial shock subsided, Seamus joined in, laughing until tears streamed from his eyes.

"Well," Professor Flitwick said, trying to regain his composure. "Allow me to present, if you will, Mr. and Mr. Finnigan-Thomas!"

Seamus raised his and Dean's clasped hands high above their heads, to laughter and cheers of their guests, and neither of them could contain their giggles as they ran down the aisle, through the little entryway in the curtain, which was now smoking slightly, having been hit by an errant firework, and into their reception area. Guests followed at a leisurely pace, wiping away tears of mirth and smiling more than most of them swore they had done since the war started.

"Bloody brilliant," Ron laughed, as he ventured over to the couple, greeting them both with a clap on the back. "Think you could do that when we-" he stopped suddenly, the tips of his ears turning scarlet, and he looked pointedly away from Hermione, who simply rolled her eyes.

Ginny rushed forward from behind Ron and Hermione, practically shoving her brother to the side as she launched herself at Dean, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Congratulations!" she squealed, hugging him tightly, and Dean returned the gesture after a moment's hesitation. "I'm so happy for you both!"

Seamus felt a brief tug of jealousy as he looked at the two of them intertwined, the memories from sixth year still fresher than he'd like. From Harry's carefully blank expression, Seamus guessed that similar thoughts were crossing through his mind. It was silly though, they were all sorted now, everyone settled with who they ought to be with, no reason to be jealous of one another. As he reminded himself of that fact, Ginny extricated herself from Dean and wrapped her arms around Seamus as well. Harry let out a snort of laughter at what must have been a very shocked expression on Seamus' face, having not anticipated that move at all.

"Really, I'm so pleased," she said, this time at a more normal pitch, for which Seamus was thankful.

"Well, we're both glad you could be here," Seamus answered, feeling a touch awkward with her arms around his neck. They had never really been _that_ close.

"We wouldn't miss it," Harry replied, flashing them a genuine smile. "Can't believe we've already got mates who are _married_ ," he mused, and Ron nodded solemnly, looking as though he would like very much to steer clear of the topic.

"I imagine it won't be long before we have even more," Ginny added, finally releasing Seamus so she could wink cheekily at Hermione, making Ron blanch.

"We're going to go grab a table before they're all occupied," Hermione interrupted diplomatically, inclining her head towards the round tables, which were quickly filling up with guests.

"Okay, see you," Dean chirped happily, not in the least bit disappointed to be able to return his attention to Seamus. "Reckon it'll be long before Ron works up the nerve to marry her?"

"Nah, if he's got any sense he'll ask her tomorrow," Seamus chuckled. It had long been a joke between the two of them how oblivious Ron was to his feelings for Hermione. Not that either of them had been any better, in the end.

There were many more well-wishers waiting to congratulate the two of them, at it felt to Seamus as though the flow of them was never-ending. All he really wanted was to be able to enjoy the rest of the night of feasting and dancing with his husband. By the time the guests have stopped wandering over to offer their congratulations, the two of them are so hungry that they practically shove the food into their mouths, Seamus doing a rather accurate impression of Ron in his early school days. When they're called to the dance floor, Seamus takes Dean's hand and grins as the gold silk curtains fall away, and leads him out to the newly cleared space. Music swelled from overhead once more, and Seamus smiled at Dean's choice of song. It was a muggle one, and he had the vague feeling he'd heard it before, but as he listened to the words dance around them, they just seemed to fit. A whole different kind of magic.

The song ended, and after the couple took a bow, another song began to play, Seamus beckoning for others to come join them. Neville and Luna were the first, followed shortly by Harry and Ginny, Hermione and a reluctant Ron close behind. Others gradually followed suit, and throughout the night, Dean and Seamus never once returned to their seats. The more butterbeer everyone drank, the dorkier they danced, reminding them of their night of revelry at the Yule Ball in fourth year.

Except this night was _so_ much better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I added this because I read a fic in which Dean's father didn't actually abandon him and his mother, but was actually killed by Death Eaters, and to my knowledge there's no canon reason why that couldn't be true, so yeah, I'm going with it.
> 
> †Notes on etymology: Dean's middle name is Edgar because JK Rowling was originally going to name him Gary Thomas. "Gary" is Germanic, meaning "spear", and Edgar has a similar meaning, but I liked the sound of Dean Edgar better than Dean Gary. Eoin, the Gaelic form of Ian/John, also just seemed like a good fit for Seamus. His first name is a Gaelic form of James, and I think James and John have a similar feel to them, so I could see someone liking both. So Seamus Eoin.
> 
> ‡Timeline-wise, in my head Deamus gets together right after the Battle, and tells their family immediately, Seamus spends the summer living in the Thomas' guest room (even though he sneaks into Dean's room every night – Dean's parents pretend not to know, but they do), and by the end of the summer, Seamus' mother has come around. Dean goes back to Hogwarts on September 1st, but Seamus does not, having finished his seventh year already. Seamus proposes to Dean on Christmas, and they get married the following summer, when all the castle repairs are finally complete.


	3. Broken Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little thing about healing and helping each other mend. Post-Battle of Hogwarts, pre-epilogue. Originally published Mar 19, 2015 on ff.net.

When the war was over and the funerals were held, Harry went back to the Burrow, along with the rest of the Weasleys (and Hermione, after she lifted the memory charm on her parents) and began trying to figure out what it meant to have a life after Voldemort. He had never really known anything else, not since he found out he was a wizard at least, and the idea was more than a little daunting, especially since he had thought his life was going to end up until a few weeks ago. Hermione had already declared that she was going back to Hogwarts to finish her last year, along with Ginny and Luna and a few others who made it through the War. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to face that place again, the castle that had for so long been his home felt strange to him now, haunted by too many ghosts (both real and imagined). So he roamed the house, trying to figure out what to do with his life, and Mrs. Weasley never pressured him, reassuring him and Ron time and time again that they could take as long as they needed to collect their thoughts, that they were more than welcome, that she didn’t mind their presence at all. If he was honest, he thought that perhaps having them there (meaning more work around the house, more cooking and cleaning and laundry) helped keep her mind off Fred and Lupin and Tonks and the countless others.

He was walking around the garden aimlessly one afternoon, trying to find a way to pass the time (he rarely felt like flying anymore, and playing Exploding Snap or chess with Ron only took his mind off things for so long) when he saw Ginny, sitting a little ways off in the field beyond the garden, facing away from him with her feet dangling in the miniature lake that lay between Burrow and the Lovegoods’ house. He started walking over to her, but before he got all the way there, he heard her sniffling and paused, unsure whether or not he should intrude. In the end, he just sat next to her, slowly unlacing his trainers and slipping them off so he could put his feet in the water with her, and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he stayed quiet, waiting for her to speak first if she wanted to. It was the least he could do, just be there for her.

After what seemed like ages, she lifted her head and smiled at him, small and hesitant, so very different from the Ginny he knew so well. She seemed timid, shy, like the girl she had been when she was eleven and a little starstruck (and more than a little infatuated), and Harry couldn’t help but give her a warm smile in return.

“I really miss Fred. Sometimes I think it’s getting easier but -” she choked a little on her words, and Harry pressed his lips to her forehead.

“I know. I miss him too. I miss them all.” He tried to master his emotions, to not let all the thoughts and memories coming swimming back to drown him, but he can feel the tears pricking his eyes, and he figured if there’s one person he can let go in front of, it’s Ginny, so he did.

Eventually they lie back on the grass together, almost touching but not quite, telling each other all the things they never knew before.

“You know, it was Fred and George who gave me the Marauders’ map, back in third year,” Harry said, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “They found me during the first Hogsmeade trip and gave it to me, said that my need was greater than theirs. You should take it this year, when you go back.” He doesn’t think about how different the castle will be after all the repairs and reconstructions.

“If you want me to. You know, for my birthday first year, they smuggled in massive amounts of Honeydukes sweets for me. I always wondered how they managed it.” She laughed a little, the noise sounding like music to Harry. “Once…” she paused, taking a deep breath, “once when I was a little kid, I wanted to play quidditch with them, but I was too little to ride my own broom, so Fred put me on his with him, only he was barely big enough himself, and he lost control and we went toppling off. We were only like, three metres off the ground, so we didn’t get hurt, and we were laughing so hard.” Her eyes lit up as she laughed lightly, picturing it in her mind, but slowly the light faded as the present came rushing back to her, and Harry slid his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers and squeezing gently. “Harry,” she says quietly after a minute, “are… do you… er, what’s going on? With us I mean. Is there…?”

“What do you want?” he asked in response.

“Right now, I want to know what you’re thinking,” she demanded, her face set in defiance, the look in her eyes as fierce as the first time she kissed him back in the Gryffindor common room and he sighed.

“I want you, if that’s what you want too.”

“Good,” she replied, and she leaned forward to kiss him softly, grinning when she pulled away, pushing his glasses up his nose from where they had slid down. She curled into him, laying her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around him, and they stayed that way for another hour or two, trading stories back and forth, starting with Fred, then Lupin, then anything their minds wandered upon until their voices were hoarse and their stomachs hurt from laughing.

It takes a long time for them, starting with little touches - hands held, fingers brushed against knees, arms wrapped around shoulders, and sometimes a sweet goodnight kiss. When September 1st rolls around and it comes time for Ginny to go back to Hogwarts, Harry already knows that he’ll be there to meet her in the Three Broomsticks when the first Hogsmeade weekend comes around (or maybe sooner if Ginny feels like testing out some of those old secret passages). It’s a slow build this time, not like in the sixth year when it was all sneaking off to broom cupboards and roaming hands and passionate kisses. This time they’re helping to heal each other’s battle scars, and it takes time, but they end up stronger, closer, and this time it lasts.


	4. See You Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feels monster got me with this one guys. Inspired by the song by Wiz Khalifa and Charlie Puth. Its sad, not gonna lie. Battle of Hogwarts.

_It’s been a long day without you my friend_

_And I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again_

_We’ve come along way from where we began_

_Oh I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again_

_When I see you again_

* * *

 

As he took his place on the ramparts, Remus gazed out over the grounds and wondered to himself at how similar it all looked from there. He could almost see himself at eleven years old, running across the great, sloping laws after James and Sirius, feeling happy and carefree because he _finally_ had friends. He could vividly recall the night they had first shown him there were animagi, dragging him out of bed and under James’ invisibility cloack in the middle of the night. They stood outside, wandlight gleaming in their eyes as they told him with proud smiles what they had done. And then they had shown him, and he watched in disbelief as antlers burst from the top of James’ head and shaggy black fur sprouted all over Sirius’ body and Peter shrank rapidly, until before him stood a dog, a stag, and a rat. He could easily recall James sneaking back into the dorm in their seventh year after late nights with Lily, could remember Sirius pranking him with a fog charm on his glasses or a sticking charm on the pages of his book so that when he fell asleep studying in the common room he would wake with it plastered to his face, unable to pull it off while James and Sirius howled with laughter. He remembers the night Harry was born, when James had apparated into Sirius’ tiny apartment where they were waiting, and he was crying as he hugged them because Harry was perfect, _perfect_ , and he’d never loved anything so much. He can recall the night they died too, when Sirius had turned up, fuming because he knew what Peter had done and they fought because he hadn’t believed his best friend, he had thought Sirius was Secret Keeper, they all had, and when he pulled out his want, Sirius just left, which was just as well because he never could have used it. He found out the truth twelve years later.

 _Look at me now_ , he thought, glancing up at the stars, _with a wife and a son, fighting alongside your boy, James. I get it now, why you cried with joy when he was born._ He wondered if his friend would recognize the man he had become in the long years of his absence. He looked at the stars again, each one of them a memory of his friends and his heart ached for them.

When his fight is over and he leaves his body behind, they each embrace him in turn - Lily with a soft smile and a tear in her eye, James with a pat on the back, and Sirius with his fist forming a death grip on his jacket. They whisper apologies for his sacrifice and words of gratitude for supporting Harry, but all he thinks is how nice it is to hear their voices again after so long.

“I have missed you,” he says softly as Sirius envelops him in another hug. “I have so much to tell you about your son.”

“Later,” Lily answers, smiling gently. “There will be more to welcome before the night is over.” She nods behind him and he turns, the sight of Tonks walking toward him sending a dagger through his heart. He cries as he holds her, thinking that this is not what he wanted for her, for their son, but she reassures him that Teddy will be well looked after and very loved, and that one day he will understand that his parents died fighting for a better world for him.

It is not long before they are joined by Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, and others, and they weep every time a child who was too young for war crosses over, and more and more family members appear to greet them mournfully. Remus feels a gently tugging and Sirius turns to him, a grim smile on his face.

“There is something we must do,” he says, and Remus nods as they join James and Lily, the four of them comforting Harry on his walk to the Forbidden Forest, giving him the courage he needs in these last moments.


	5. Change of Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Draco Malfoy piece, post Battle, through to the epilogue.

Something snaps in the back of Draco’s mind during the battle of Hogwarts, when he sees his friends falling to the ground and has to remind himself that they won’t be getting up again. He’s ashamed when his parents beckon him to join the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters as the dangle Potter’s body in front of the survivors like a taunt. He has to stop himself from retching when Voldemort welcomes him to their side, stop himself from turning and running, from defying his parents for the first time in his life. And as his parents smuggle him away to safety, Draco really and truly hates himself, hates them, hates the life that he has always known.

He leaves Malfoy Manor as soon as he can, but it still takes about a week of sneaking around the massive house at night trying to collect his belongings without anyone noticing. He places an undetectable extension charm on the book bag he used to use at school and stuffs everything in there as quietly as possible, emptying his closets and dressers and nightstands and bookshelves. He sleeps very little, not wanting to see the faces of the dead, and bags are starting to form under his eyes, but if his parents notice anything, they do not speak of it. When he has collected everything he thinks he might need or want, and a few others just in case, he slips out in the middle of the night, leaving a note on the dining room table with only two words scrawled in his intricate handwriting - _good bye_.

He doesn’t know where to go, he’s never had anywhere else, except Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor, so when he apparates to Diagon Alley, he merely wanders the empty street until the first beams of sunlight spread over the tops of the buildings and the shopkeepers come out, unlocking their doors and lifting the blinds in their windows. By lunchtime, he has made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, and although it is not somewhere his father would ever have deigned to stay, this quickly becomes Draco’s first home away from Malfoy Manor, and he lives in room number seven for almost six months before he finds a flat in London that he likes. He works, even though he doesn’t need the money, because he likes being independent, likes not going to Gringotts to withdraw money from the vault his parents created for him and continually stock with gold. He likes not being dependent on his family for the first time, getting a chance to be something for himself.

He meets Astoria Greengrass in Diagon Alley, nearly knocks her over as he reads and walks at the same time, not seeing her standing in front of the Magical Menagerie, gazing at a particularly beautiful black and white cat stretching in the window. Draco checks every day to see if the cat is still there, and a month later he buys it for her as a gift, and she names him Nox, and although he insists that he is not a pet person, he loves the cat as much as she does, sneaking it milk when she’s not looking. And when Astoria moves into Draco’s spacious apartment, Nox curls up between their feet each night.

As the years pass, the serpent and skull branded into his arm fades into a scar, but Draco still finds himself wearing long sleeved robes and sweaters to cover it, not wanting anyone to see the hideous mark that mars his skin, not wanting to remind himself of the things he did to earn it. Astoria massages the sore tissue there, easing the discomfort that sometimes tingles there like a phantom limb, the memory of the fire that burned when the Dark Lord summoned his servants. She tells him that she forgives him for the things that he did, although she is not the one he needs forgiveness from, and she insists that the world forgives him too, for being a young boy raised to believe the wrong things. She offers him small, reassuring smiles until he believes her, and until one day he learns to forgive himself.

Their wedding is small, very legal, and not the boisterous affair it is in some families. They are happy, of course, overjoyed, but they are also reserved, preferring small shared touches and intimate moments to loud singing and dancing and drinking. It takes a great deal of convincing from Astoria before Draco agrees to invite his mother and father, but she tells him that one day he will regret it if he doesn’t at least try to include them, and although he privately thinks she is wrong, he knows when to concede. She is, of course, right, and there comes a day when he finds that he is glad they were there, toasting their son’s marriage and bright future.

When Astoria tells him she’s pregnant, he is immediately more panicked than excited, and he sinks into a chair, holding his head in his hands and messing up his neatly combed blonde hair. She looks at him, worried, and he faces her with eyes full of fear and thoughts of inadequacy. He doesn’t want to be the kind of father Lucius was, doesn’t want his child to have that kind of life, imbued with superiority and hatred and false pride. So many children his son or daughter will encounter are going to have actual reasons to be proud of their lineage, but him, what can his child brag about? A grandfather who boasted of being among the closest servants of the Dark Lord during his height? A father who fought for the Dark Lord despite having reservations? Astoria assures him that his child will love him and he will be a good father, and he can’t help but believe her when she looks at him with such confidence. When he holds Scorpius for the first time, his doubts fly away, because this kid has him wrapped around his finger already, and he knows he would do _anything_ to give him the best life imaginable.

Scorpius’ childhood is very different from Draco’s. It is full of laughter and smiles and running through the hallways as fast as possible. Draco plays quidditch with his son in the backyard every Saturday, and plays chess with him every Monday. They build forts and play “dragons” and make such tremendous messes that Astoria glares at Draco with a look that clearly states he’ll be cleaning up, not her. They have fun, but Draco also teaches his son to be a respectable person - to take pride in his appearance, to study hard, to speak and write well, to keep company with people who will push him to be better, not bring out the worst in him. When Draco sees Scorpius waving to him from the same car on the Hogwarts Express as little Rose Weasley and Albus Potter, he glances over at Harry and Ron and thinks secretly to himself that, while the three of them may never really get on, perhaps they have at least raised children who are better than themselves and won’t walk around hexing each other left and right. Perhaps he has finally done something right. He thinks he has.


	6. Happier With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be fooled by the title, there is nothing happy about this story. Ahead is angst and depression, you have been warned. But seriously, there’s descriptions of depression and mentions of sex, and like, ALL the angst. So enjoy. Post-Battle of Hogwarts Ginny.

_Aint nobody hurt you like I hurt you  
_ _But aint nobody need you like I do  
_ _I know that there's others that deserve you  
_ _But my darling I am still in love with you_

Ginny met him a few weeks after the Battle. She couldn’t take the suffocating grief of the Burrow any longer, so she walked down to Ottery St. Catchpole by herself, just to be alone. Her mouth was twisted down, hinting at a frown, a permanent look of late, and her eyes stared dead ahead, barely seeing, not registering anything about her surroundings, including the dark haired boy walking toward her from the intersecting street. He was holding a book, deeply entrenched in its text, and evidently did not see Ginny either, as the two of them promptly collided, and Ginny found herself sprawled in the dust.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there, it was entirely my fault,” the boy said, reaching out a hand to pull Ginny back to her feet.

“No, it’s fine, I was… I was…” she couldn’t seem to find the words to explain her mindlessness, so she just let her voice drift off as she pushed herself up, wiping the dust off her hands on her denim shorts.

“Distracted?” he suggested, cocking an eyebrow, and Ginny nodded. She looked more carefully at the boy, and it was difficult to miss that he was very attractive. His hair was a chocolate brown, and it hung in thick curls around his ears. He had light brown eyes, which matched his light brown skin. “I’m Sami.”

“Sorry, Ginny,” she answered, realizing that she had been staring, but she did not blush.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, Ginny,” Sami said, his eyes boring into her own with an intense focus.

“My family has a farm a little ways away,” she said, reciting the lie they had been taught from childhood about the Burrow. “You busy right now?”

“Not really,” he replied, folding down the corner of his page and tucking his book under his arm.

—

Ginny walked down to the village just about every day to see Sami, though she adamantly refused to let him come to the Burrow. It wasn’t just the magic, it was everything that she didn’t want to tell him about. Why people tiptoed around her, why Harry couldn’t look her in the eye, why one wrong word would make her mother burst into tears, why George looked skinner every single day, why the entire property felt about as lively as a morgue. They didn’t talk much at all, and when they did, they focused mainly on Sami’s A levels. She enjoyed learning about muggle things, particularly muggle history, and the ancient kings and queens. He told her stories that he had grown up with, before his family moved to the UK, and she loved the ones about Scheherazade the most.

They didn’t spend much time talking, however. Ginny preferred to tangle her fingers in his curls, and he rather liked to trace his fingers over her freckles, drawing patterns in them like constellations across her body. They moved faster than she had with any of her other boyfriends, though none of it was new for Ginny. In the early days with Dean, before they had started fighting about secret feelings for other people, things had felt so good, and she hadn’t had any qualms about taking the last step with him. It didn’t matter to her that she felt next to nothing for Sami, it wasn’t about feeling something in particular, it was about feeling anything. She felt nothing all the time, just numbness and a throbbing ache in her chest, like she was having a heart attack all the time. But when she was with Sami and their clothes were off and his hands were on her skin, she felt alive, and that was so much better than the other thing.

It did not escape Sami’s attention that Ginny seemed to always be in the middle of a dense, dark cloud. He didn’t miss the far off look in her eyes, or the way her lips always tugged down at the corners, even when she smiled. He noticed the way her eyes would glaze over, almost like she was about to cry, and then she would grab his shirt or his hand or his chin and pull his lips to hers, crashing together like waves during a violent storm. He knew there was something buried in the depths of her mind or her heart or both, something she was not ready or willing to share with him, and that was alright. Sami knew she was using him to run away, and that was alright with him.

It was not alright with Ron, who caught them snogging heatedly one day when he came to find Ginny for dinner. He yelled, and Sami had the decency to look abashed, but Ginny merely rolled her eyes and walked back up the hill towards the Burrow, Ron trailing behind her, still unleashing a barrage of beratement.

“Ginny, what the hell do you think you’re doing, running around with a muggle boy, doing - having - I swear Ginny, if you come home pregnant…” Ron fumed, his ears scarlet with rage.

Consumed with anger, Ron apparently did not realize that they had just come within earshot of Harry, who was leaning against the gate, waiting for them. He immediately stood straight up, his face darkening as though a shadow had crossed over it, and to someone who did not know him as well, Harry might have looked frightening.

“What?” he hissed, his voice seething, and his green eyes fixed on Ginny with a burning intensity. “What the hell have you been doing that would make that a concern?”

“Harry, mate,” Ron backpedalled, trying to placate his friend, who looked as though steam might begin pouring from his ears.

“I can do whatever I want,” Ginny fired back defiantly, a little bit of her old fight kicking back up as she looked at the two boys who wanted nothing more than to boss her around.

“And apparently whoever,” Ron snorted angrily, unfortunately loud enough for Harry to hear.

“You shouldn’t be doing anything!” Harry fumed, barely controlling himself enough to keep from yelling.

“It’s not the first time,” Ginny shrugged, and Ron closed his eyes, having just been told something he very much did not want to know.

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Harry gritted through his teeth, his hands running furiously through his messy hair.

“Why should you care who I have sex with?” Ginny challenged, somewhat spoiling for a fight. Ron threw his hands in the air and briskly walked back towards the house, unable to hear any more.

“I - I care,” Harry stammered, fidgeting with his glasses, somewhere between anxious and incensed.

“Why?” Ginny pressed, stepping closer, her body language radiating anger and irritation. “Why does it matter to you who I sleep with, hmm? You left! You left to go hunt Voldemort, and then you left to go die, so why do you get to care?”

“Because I love you!” Harry burst out, much louder and angrier than he would have liked to say it. “Because I love you and I know you love me, and I thought you wouldn’t want to be with anyone for a while, but you being with someone else, Gin it’s killing me. It’s meant to be you and me, Gin, you know it, so what’re you doing messing around with some other guy?”

“Don’t you get it?” she answered, barely containing a scream. “Don’t you understand that’s exactly why it has to be someone else? Harry, with you it’s seven years leading up to this and everything to come, it’s our whole lives, and I can’t do that right now, I just need someone to remind me that I am alive.”

“I could be that…” Harry started, but Ginny shook her head.

“No you couldn’t,” she said sadly. “Harry, when you look at me you see the war, you see all of our friends’ bodies, you see me lying in the Chamber at 12 with Riddle standing over me, you see Colin and Lavender and… when you look at me, you see the emptiness that Fred left behind, and I can’t, I can’t…” her voice cracked as she choked on the tears she had been fighting to hold back for weeks.

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded and took a step backwards. He understood what she was saying, in essence. That this, whatever she was doing now, whatever she had going on with this guy, it was helping her heal. He didn’t like it, but he had no choice.

“Harry?” her voice was soft, and he looked back at her. “It’ll be you in the end, it’s just, I just can’t right now. But I don’t expect you to, I mean if you want to you can -“

“No, you’re it for me, Ginny,” Harry answered, picking up on what she was trying to say. “I love you, and that’s it.”

“I can’t love anyone yet,” Ginny replied quietly, and Harry nodded, understanding. She had too much grief inside her to love at the moment. But one day, maybe even one day soon, she wouldn’t. He turned and walked toward the house, leaving Ginny standing at the gate. The sun was setting and it cast an orange glow over the hillside, setting her hair on fire. She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes quickly, and then turned to the house for dinner with her family.


	7. As You Fade From View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt from tumblr user @h0lyheadharpies about Sirius falling through the veil into a parallel universe. Don’t really have any other notes. Hope you all enjoy!

Bellatrix sent a jet of red light at Sirius head and he ducked, laughing. He knew it would infuriate her, his dear cousin had always hated being mocked. Sirius also knew that while fury fired Bellatrix up for a fight, it also made her erratic, and if he could just throw her off balance…

“Come on, you can do better than that!” he taunted, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Bellatrix growled in response, and Sirius smiled, he was so close, any minute now she would lose it and start fighting more like a rabid animal than an intellectual dueler. Sirius opened his mouth again, another taunt bubbling on his lips, but another jet of red light hit him squarely in the chest before the words could spill forth. He felt himself lose control of his body as the stunning spell took effect and he fell backwards. He passed through something very warm, like a curtain of steam, and then hit the ground hard.

Sirius felt pain spread through his tailbone, and instinctively rubbed his hand over it as he sat up. It took a few seconds for him to realize that he should not be able to run his hands over anything. He had been stunned, he shouldn’t be able to move. Alarmed, Sirius looked at his surroundings, even more surprised to find that he was no longer in the Department of Mysteries. He recognized his new surroundings immediately, and they sent a pang of sorrow through his heart. It was Godric’s Hollow, the fountain in the center square to be precise.

Sirius looked around in confusion. How had he gotten here? Perhaps something in the Department of Mysteries had been a portkey. But then how had the stunning spell been lifted? A portkey would not do that. Sirius pushed himself to his feet and stepped closer to the fountain, staring at his reflection in the water. His face looked younger, with fewer lines and softer edges, as though the weight of grief and sorrow had been lifted from his body.

“Hey, you okay?” a voice said from behind him, and Sirius closed his eyes as he recognized it with ease. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw that Remus too looked younger, less troubled.

“This is wrong,” Sirius said, gesturing toward the fountain, and he turned to look at it once more, as Remus slid his arm around his waist. “This shouldn’t be a fountain, they took it out. They were going to build a monument, I read about it in the Prophet.”

“I didn’t see that, but I suppose they just haven’t started construction yet,” Remus answered, and Sirius saw Remus’ reflection give him a curious look.

“No, it was thirteen years ago, after the first anniversary,” Sirius insisted, running a hand through his curls.

“I don’t know, love, maybe they just decided not build it after all,” Remus shrugged, and Sirius flashed him an odd and somewhat irritated look. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“Late for what?” Sirius asked, his confusion mounting.

“Where’s your costume, mister?” a little boy asked as he ran by, pausing to cock his head at Sirius.

“He’s going to put it on at our friend’s house,” Remus assured the young boy, and he ran off, seemingly satisfied. “You did bring a costume, right?”

“A costume? Why would I have a costume? Remus we were just fighting –“

“I know we were, but I thought we could put that aside tonight for Harry’s sake,” Remus hissed. “Can’t you just enjoy taking your godson trick or treating?”

Sirius looked around him again, taking in more details than he had before. In addition to looking younger, he and Remus were wearing different clothes than they had been at the Department of Mysteries. The air was cool and crisp, far different from the heat he had felt when he’d left for the Ministry. Leaves rustled as they skipped across the ground in the wind, and down one of the side streets, Sirius could hear the sound of excited children.

“It’s Halloween?” Sirius said, more to himself than to Remus, as pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in his mind.

“Yes, of course it is, stop acting strange,” Remus answered. “Come on, James and Lily are waiting for us and if we don’t go soon, it’ll be too late to take Harry out.”

Remus didn’t wait for Sirius to reply as he turned and began walking down the street that led to the Potter’s cottage. Sirius considered all the evidence in front of him and came to a conclusion that distressed him more than he could say. He must be dead, and this was the afterlife. Sirius had never really believed in heaven and hell. The Black family was not particularly religious, and even if they had been, how could Sirius ever believe in a god after the kind of childhood he’d had? It was the only thing that made sense, the only way he could possibly be with James and Lily. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, clearly not the stunning spell, but perhaps he had hit his head hard enough when he fell…

 _Oh god, Harry,_ Sirius thought, and his heart clenched painfully. His godson would be devastated at his loss, and the fifteen-year old had already been through so much. The idea of Harry suffering made Sirius’ heart ache, and he felt an almost desperate desire to get back to him. _How did one become a ghost?_ He had never much liked the idea of becoming a ghost, but if it meant not leaving Harry alone, it would be worth it. _And Remus too…_ Sirius realized, if Remus was here, it must mean that something had happened to him too. There was something fitting about Remus dying moments after himself, in the same battle, but thinking of Remus’ death made him hurt in indescribable ways. He wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to know what happened to Remus – he could imagine well enough, Remus charging Bellatrix when he saw Sirius fall, leaving himself vulnerable to a killing curse.

Remus stopped walking at the gate leading to James and Lily’s house, his hand resting on the wood. It was exactly as Sirius remembered, and yet not. The hedge was about shoulder height, perfect to keep prying eyes from seeing little Harry flying around on his training broom. The stone of the house was neat, though here and there ivy climbed the cracks. James had hated the ivy, always saying he was going to take it down, but Lily loved it, she had thought it made the place feel more homey. The house looked different from the last time he had seen it though. The gate was hanging properly, not from its hinges, latched closed, and the door was not blasted ajar. On the second floor, the walls continued normally, when Sirius vividly remembered the wall of the nursery having been blasted apart, leaving broken studs visible. Perhaps the biggest difference, however, was the three individuals sitting on the front doorstep.

James, with his messy black hair, was holding Harry, and Lily sat beside them, one hand resting lightly on James’ thigh as she smiled at her son. After a moment, she looked up and waved warmly at them, her green eyes sparkling welcomingly.

“You made it!” she exclaimed, rushing forward to hug them as Remus pushed open the gate.

Sirius felt his eyes well up as Lily’s arms wrapped around him, the familiar scent of her perfume wafting over him. It had been so long.

“Sirius? What’s wrong?” Lily asked him, suddenly alarmed. He hadn’t even realized that a few tears had fallen.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he answered, nearly whispering.

“Missed us?” she replied, shooting Remus a concerned look. “You were here a few days ago, Sirius.”

“It’s alright, Lily, you don’t have to pretend to ease me into it or anything, I know what’s going on,” Sirius stated, pulling away from her and looking at James. “I know I’ve died. I just don’t understand why it’s like this.”

“Died? Sirius, no one’s died!” James interjected, alarmed.

“It’s fine, James, really,” Sirius insisted. “I don’t regret it, I was fighting to save Harry from the Death Eaters, there’s no more worthy cause –“

“Death Eaters?” Remus interrupted, and he, James and Lily all exchanged confused and concerned looks. “What are Death Eaters and why would they be after Harry?”

Sirius stopped and looked at his friends, noting the concern that laced their features. They were all regarding him as though he was a bomb about to go off, something alarming and unpredictable.

“How can you not know? Voldemort, he killed you, and now you can’t even remember who he is?”

“We’re not dead, mate,” James said, holding onto Harry a little tighter. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but no bloke named Voldemort’s ever tried to hurt us.”

Sirius paused, looking at everything in front of him. It made no sense – if they were all dead, James and Lily should remember everything that had happened still, just as he did. And why would baby Harry be in the afterlife, when he had very clearly survived the attack? Something wasn’t adding up.

“Are your parents joining us?” Sirius asked James, testing a new theory.

“No, of course not, mate, my parents… they’ve been gone for a couple months now,” James answered, his voice catching a little bit, and he looked down at Harry, running his hand over the infant’s head.

That settled the matter – he couldn’t possibly be dead. If this were the afterlife, then anyone who was dead would be alive to them. James’ parents had indeed died a few months before their son, so they would have to be here if it were the afterlife. The fact that they weren’t, that this James’ parents were dead too, meant that something else was going on.

“Right, yeah, I meant Lily’s parents,” Sirius recovered quickly, and Lily took a deep breath.

“No, Petunia convinced my parents that they should spend Halloween with their son,” Lily said, sounding slightly bitter.

“I’m sorry, Lils,” Remus replied, stepping forward to hug his friend. It seemed that even in this reality, things between Lily and Petunia were quite tense.

“Hey, you guys don’t happen to have a copy of today’s Prophet, do you?” Sirius asked, trying his best to sound casual.

“Not today’s, but I think we still have yesterday’s paper,” James shrugged, handing Harry off to Lily and leading Sirius inside.

They went to the kitchen, where James dug through a pile of parchment and extracted the previous day’s Daily Prophet, handing it to Sirius. He looked at the headlines, flipping through quickly. Every article looked benign, nothing that he remembered seeing, no sign of the events he remembered happening. In the week leading up to his Lily and James’ deaths, the wizarding world had been buzzing about the disappearance of Benjy Fenwick, but there was no mention of it in this paper. There was simply no way this could be the same reality that he had lived in.

“James,” Sirius ventured cautiously, unsure of how his friend would react, “do you believe in parallel universes?”

“You mean like a place where everything is the same except for one thing?” James clarified, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Yeah, only one change can have a huge effect,” Sirius persisted, and James nodded.

“The butterfly effect,” he agreed. “I guess it’s possible, I don’t know, mate. There’s no evidence of it, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.”

“I think… I think I’m the proof,” Sirius said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“What?” James gasped.

“I think I’m from a parallel universe,” Sirius explained, sitting down next to James. “Or this is the parallel universe, I don’t know, I’m not sure if one is more real than another, but this is not the place that I lived in.”

“How so?” James questioned. To Sirius’ relief, he sounded more curious than disbelieving. “I mean, what are the differences?”

“There was this wizard –“

“Voldemort.”

“Yeah, he was pretty evil, bout as bad as it gets,” Sirius explained. “He fueled all the pure blood mania, and he killed anyone who opposed him. The Death Eaters were his supporters, the nearest and dearest who completely believed that muggles and muggleborns were scum and deserved to die. Regulus was one of them. We were a part of an order that fought against them, you me, Remus, Lily. Voldemort, he… for some reason he got into his head that you and Lily, and Harry, were the biggest threat to his power. He went after you and he…”

“He killed us,” James finished, when Sirius could no longer go on with his story.

“Yeah,” Sirius confirmed. “But Harry survived. He lived, and he brought down Voldemort, for a time at least. But now he’s back and Harry’s fighting him again.”

“How old is he now?” James asked. “In your world. How old was he when we died?”

“He’s almost sixteen,” Sirius answered, the first bit of the information easier to share than the second. “The night you died… it was tonight.”

“Oh my god…”

“Hey, James, he’s fine,” Sirius reassured his best friend. “He turned out great, I mean you would be so proud of him.”

“James?” Lily poked her head around the doorway, baby Harry perched on her hip, happily stuffing his fist in his mouth. “If we don’t go soon, it’ll be too late.”

“Yeah, of course, let’s go,” James said, shaking his head as if to clear away the cobwebs of the conversation he had just been having, and he stood up, reaching out for his son. “You’re still coming, right?”

“Of course he is,” Lily said, smiling. “We can’t have Halloween without our son’s godfather, especially since he bought Harry’s costume.”

For the first time, Sirius looked closely at Harry’s outfit. He had on sky blue robes, with navy pants underneath, and a shirt that had large navy and sky blue checkers on it. Emblazoned on the chest of the robes were too small, overlapping Ts. James picked up a little broomstick as well, the small toy one Sirius had given Harry for his birthday.

“Well I do have excellent taste in costumes,” Sirius smiled. “Are you sure it’s okay to take him out in that around muggles though?”

“Yeah, yeah, the costume is charmed to look like some muggle football team to muggles,” James answered, waving nonchalantly.

“Right, makes sense,” Sirius nodded.

“Which team?” Remus asked, entering the kitchen with a smile.

“Er, West Ham, I think,” James answered with a shrug. As a Pureblood wizard, muggle football teams meant next to nothing to him. “Does it matter?”

“Well they could have at least picked a decent team, like Villa,” Remus joked, and Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Boys, no fighting,” Lily interrupted, before Sirius could answer.

They all followed Lily out of the house and proceeded down the street. With each house, the group walked up to the door and rapped on the wood, Harry squealing with delight. Some of the houses had Halloween decorations that made noises when you got close or lit up, and a few people even hid in their own bushes and jumped out to surprise the visitors. Each time, Harry squealed and laughed, a light, happy sound that made Sirius’ heart soar.

As they walked through Godric’s Hollow, they chatted about little things in their lives. Lily was thinking about going back to work, and thought it might be good for James to do the same thing. They were rich enough not to, to be sure, but neither one of them were suited to sitting at home endlessly. James, on the other hand, protested that they had plenty of time for work in the future, and for now he wanted to focus on having more children. He wanted Harry to have brothers and sisters, lots of them, and he wanted them to be close in age. Lily was less sure about it. It made sense, given their background – as an only child, James had always craved siblings, but Lily’s experience with Petunia had left her wary of the idea. Remus said he had been offered a job through St Mungo’s. They wanted him to work in counseling patients who could not be fully healed from their illnesses and injuries. It was a dream come true for him, to have an employer who knew of his condition and embrace it, seeing in it the possibility to help other people. Sirius remained quiet for most of the conversation, congratulating the others when it was called for, and adding suggestions or advice, but he offered no details of his own life.

“Sirius, do you want to hold Harry for a bit?” Lily offered as they began to walk back to their house.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Sirius blanched, wanting to decline. He had had precious few opportunities to hold his Harry when he was a baby, and it had been so long since then. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Oh go on, you’ll be fine, he’s tougher than the looks,” James said, nodding to encourage Sirius.

Lily held the infant out, and Sirius cautiously took him into his arms, settling him against his chest. Harry yawned and nuzzled his head into Sirius’ neck, and suddenly Sirius could no longer hold back his tears. He rubbed his free hand around Harry’s back, and the infant closed his eyes sleepily.

“Sirius, are you alright, mate?” James asked, looking at him with concern.

“Yeah, I just…” he looked up at James, their eyes meeting, and an understanding seemed to pass between them.

That night, having his best friends back and seeing what life could have been like for all of them if Voldemort had not destroyed everything, it had been a dream. He wanted so badly to stay, to forget his other life, his time in Azkaban and live in this world, where his best friends would get to see their kid grow up, and he would have a life with the man he’d always wanted. But it also reminded him of everything that had happened in the other world, and had reminded him that while he might have lost a lot in his reality, so had Harry, and Harry needed him. He couldn’t let his godson lose someone else. It was his duty, as Harry’s godfather, to look out for him. He had failed at that for 12 years, but he couldn’t do it anymore. His entire world was Harry. This Harry would be fine. Part of Sirius craved seeing this Harry grow up, but he knew in his heart that it was not what he was meant for.

“I have to get back to my Harry. He’s alone, he _needs_ me. I can’t leave him, not again, it would crush him. And I have to protect him. James, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to my world.”


End file.
